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Let’s not be too obvious about this, she thought as she neared the islands. You don’t want to wind up on his doorstep.

The islands were about a hundred yards apart. As the boat entered the area between them, Leigh cut the engines. “If I were a fish,” she told Mike and Jenny, “this is just the place I’d hang out.”

Mike dropped anchor.

Jenny opened the picnic basket—one of Charlie’s baskets. She poured coffee into mugs, then handed out egg salad sandwiches wrapped in cellophane. It was their custom to eat before baiting the hooks.

Leigh’s cheek muscles ached as she chewed, reminding her again of last night—her lips tight around Charlie, her mouth full, the slick smooth hardness of him, her sucking. She’d been on top, Charlie’s head between her legs, his tongue…Her mouth was too dry for the sandwich. She struggled to swallow, and washed the food down with coffee.

Stop the daydreaming, she warned herself. Save it for later when you’re not with Mike and Jenny.

She joined in the conversation. Soon, she was calm enough to finish her sandwich.

They baited their hooks.

The current had swept the boat sideways. Leigh dropped her line over the port side so she could face east while she fished. The wooded islands acted as blinders, blocking much of the lake’s shoreline. She could see no pier or dwelling along the visible stretch of shore. Just thick forest, curtains of green drooping toward the water, roots here and there reaching down from the banks. She wondered if Charlie’s place was nearby, maybe on the other side of one of the islands.

If so, there was a chance she might see him when he rowed out with his baskets.

The white top of her bobber rode the small waves, rising and falling. She watched it. She watched the lake.

Her thoughts returned to last night. She let the images play through her mind, the feelings come back. It was almost like being with him again.

She would be with him again, this afternoon. They would go to his secret place.

I’ll take along the suntan oil, she thought.

Charlie would spread it over her naked body, then she would rub it on him. She pictured their skin gleaming with oil. She felt them squirming together, all slippery.

In just a few more hours.

She watched her bobber. She watched the lake.

There was no sign of Charlie.

Maybe he’d started early and was already on one of the other lakes. Of course. He would have wanted to finish his selling rounds as fast as possible so he could be ready to meet her.

At three o’clock.

She wondered if she could stand to wait that long.

At two-thirty, Leigh left the cabin after telling Mike and Jenny she planned to “go exploring” in the canoe.

They said to have fun.

Her heart thudded hard as she made her way down to the shore. She felt tight and trembly inside. She wore her fresh shorts, just as she had planned, and a red sleeveless blouse. She carried a towel. Rolled inside the towel was the plastic bottle of suntan oil.

She pushed the canoe into the water, wading out for a few steps before climbing aboard. She took out the suntan oil, then knelt on the towel and paddled away.

Though Leigh wanted bright sunlight for the rendezvous, there were high clouds shadowing the lake.

If the sun’s not out, she thought, we won’t glisten.

There wasn’t even a cool breeze to compensate for the sun’s loss. The air was still and muggy.

Leigh’s blouse clung to her back. It was tucked into her shorts, and it pulled at her shoulders each time she leaned forward.

After passing Carson’s Camp, she swung the bow eastward. She blinked sweat out of her eyes.

Awfully muggy.

Resting the paddle across the gunnels, she looked around. The nearest other boat was so far off that the people aboard were vague and without features. She tugged her blouse out of her shorts and lifted the front to wipe her face. She wished she could take it off, but she wore nothing beneath it.

Guys are so lucky, she thought. They can take off their shirt in weather like this.

She unbuttoned her blouse, lifted it around her lower ribs, and tied the front.

A lot better.

She picked up the paddle and dug it into the water. The canoe started forward again. Soon, it was shooting over the calm surface.

She kept a close watch on the southern shore. At last, she spotted a field of lily pads with a narrow path of open water down the middle. This had to be the channel to Goon Lake. She swung the prow toward it.

The canoe glided in, a bit to the left of the open water. The lily pads rustled like paper against the hull. Setting down the paddle, she let the canoe drift. She was out of breath, drenched with sweat. She pulled the towel out from under her knees and wiped her face with it. She wiped the back of her neck, and was glad she wore the ponytail; it kept the hair off her neck. Still gasping for breath, she plucked open the knot to let her blouse fall open. She rubbed her dripping sides and belly and chest.

As soon as the towel was gone, her skin felt damp again.

It was the heavy, hot, humid, suffocating air.

Air that smelled faintly of rain.